


break my soul in two (but you're right here)

by learningcurvette



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, except they're not rivals bc it's 2021, rivals with benefit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:53:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learningcurvette/pseuds/learningcurvette
Summary: Callum steps forward until they’re chest to chest, eye to eye.“Can I?”Mick closes his eyes and nods.That’s the beginning.That’s the end.Except it doesn't end.
Relationships: Callum Ilott/Mick Schumacher
Comments: 7
Kudos: 151





	break my soul in two (but you're right here)

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i was trying to write the whole shirtgate, but i got stuck and wrote this instead. enjoy :)

It all starts in Bahrain. 

Callum knocks on his door, asking if he can borrow Mick’s shirt or not.

Mick pushes the door wide, lets Callum follow him inside.

On the bed, lay two shirts.

White and blue.

Callum picks the blue shirt.

Mick undresses in the middle of the room. He reaches for the white one. Only half-dressed when he looks up to find Callum staring at him.

“What?” He asks defensively.

Callum steps forward until they’re chest to chest, eye to eye.

“Can I?”

Mick closes his eyes and nods.

That’s the beginning.

(That’s the end).

——

Except it doesn't end.

——

He catches Callum’s gaze as he passes the Ferrari hospitality.

Callum winks in greeting, and Mick almost stumbles at being acknowledged.

He has read through so many articles filled with Callum’s words, and his own words, about each other. 

They’re imprinted inside his head, locked tightly like precious gold in a treasure chest.

But, all Mick can remember at that moment is teeth grazing into his skin, eyes squeezed shut as a finger trails lower and lower.

The breathless screams, the quiet whimpers.

Callum brushes his hand against Mick’s.

Mick blinks, remembering where he is.

He continues walking.

——

Mick finishes his first F1 race in P13.

Callum is leaning against the wall across Mick’s hotel room as he arrives back from the paddock.

“Hey,” Mick fiddles with his bag, looking for his room card.

Callum pushes himself forward, “Hey,” and observes as Mick pulls his card from inside his bag.

Mick pushes the door, not checking whether Callum follows him or not.

Mick knows he does.

“So,” Callum speaks from behind him after the door clicks shut, the sound resounding in the dark, quiet room, “P13, huh.”

“If you’re just going to say you can do better, don’t.”

“Your lack of faith in me is breaking my heart, Schumacher.”

_Good_ , Mick thinks, _a heart for a heart_.

He just cocks an eyebrow, “You have a heart?”

Callum steps forward and gently encases Mick’s wrist with his hand before pressing the palm of Mick’s hand onto his chest.

There’s a steady heartbeat underneath Mick’s palm.

Unlike his own heartbeat, erratic, uncontrollable.

“See? A heart.”

Mick claws the fabric of Callum’s shirt and yanks him closer.

There’s a hissing sound as their lips clash, teeth knocking against each other.

Callum digs his nails against Mick’s forearm.

Romantic gestures don’t suit them.

——

It turns into a habit.

Callum appears on his door after every race.

Fucking the frustration out of him.

Leaving marks on his skin and leaving him before dawn.

One night, when Mick just can’t pretend to fall asleep immediately, like he usually does, he asks Callum the question burning inside him.

“Why are you doing this?”

Callum lays on his side, face resting on his hand, staring at him.

“Doing what?”

Mick gestures at them.

There is no answer.

Mick gazes at the ceiling of the room.

Perhaps some things are not supposed to make sense.

Mick is already half-asleep when Callum replies, voice drowned in the vastness of the hotel room.

“I don’t know. It just feels right.”

There’s a phantom of kiss on his brow.

Maybe they’re all just a figment of Mick’s imagination.

Callum is gone when he wakes up.

——

Seeing Callum with his Ferrari shirt always gives Mick an inexplicable sense of jealousy.

He’s the one with a Formula 1 seat, but watching Callum in his red shirt — being at home in the Ferrari garage, talking and laughing with those mechanics — there’s something similar to want.

That night, he lets Callum fuck him, the shirt staying on the entire time.

——

Mick has a DNF in Monza.

He goes around the press pen, giving them a summary of his short race, about the source of his car issues.

The disappointment hangs heavily in the air.

_It’s not like you’re going to finish on the podium, anyway_ , his mind cruelly reminds.

Mick is barely out of the shower when Callum pounds on his door.

“I’m not in the mood,” he states in place of greeting.

Callum tilts his head, considering, and wordlessly slips inside.

Mick follows, faithfully. Like a dog and his master.

Callum settles on the floor, spreading his legs apart, “Come here,” patting the spot between his legs.

Mick walks closer, brows drawing together, and sits down between Callum’s legs, his back on Callum.

Callum reaches for the towel around Mick’s neck and starts drying Mick’s hair.

Mick melts against him.

“You could catch a cold,” Callum scolds gently, massaging Mick’s scalp while at it.

Mick only hums in response.

They stay like that for hours.

——

Mick often forgets that the Callum he sees in daylight is not the Callum he encounters in his hotel room at nights, moon or no moon visible.

They both share similarities, though.

Both aren’t his.

Even as Mick witnesses Callum in his most vulnerable, he knows it’s not his to witness.

He closes his eyes at that.

There’s an ache when he sees Callum laughing with Marcus outside Marcus’ garage.

Mick wishes for that. He wishes for that easy camaraderie, the exchanges of jokes.

Mick wishes everything between them is less lethal, to laugh at Callum’s jokes rather than leaving bruises on Callum’s neck. To bump his shoulders with Callum mid-laugh instead of being pinned down against the mattress.

He thinks wryly to himself, _It’s easier to wish for the moon instead_.

—— 

Callum always gets that look in his eyes every time his eyes find Mick’s between the crowds. That hazy look, like he’s not quite looking at Mick, before blinking and offering Mick a smile.

Mick’s shirt sticks on his body, dark and in contrast against his skin.

A part of Mick screams, _do you hate me do you hate me do you hate me?_

Callum turns his head the other way, and Mick catches the sight of Marcus, laughing and young and lively.

There’s an ugly sensation twisting inside Mick’s stomach, moving upward to slowly choke him.

Callum looks so free, so unguarded at Marcus’ presence.

Mick swallows the bile rising against his throat.

—— 

Mick is drunk on his next encounter with Callum.

“Callum,” Mick sways as he greets him, the words all slurred up together, “You’re here.”

“You’re drunk.”

Mick giggles, “Not drunk enough for this,” and smashes their lips together.

Callum responds, kissing him back before stilling.

“No.”

Mick pouts, pulling away, “Why not?”

Callum sighs, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Mick lets himself be led away.

Callum coaxes him onto the bed.

Mick slips into the duvet with minimal resistance.

“Just one?” he pleads.

“Good night, Mick.”

Callum turns to leave.

Something in Mick breaks.

“You don’t want me.”

Callum halts.

“You never want me.”

“You’re drunk,” Callum says, at last, face still hidden from Mick’s view.

Mick scoffs.

“Go, then.”

Mick closes his eyes, pulling the duvet up to his nose, angry and disappointed.

“I don’t want to see you again.”

——

Marcus wins the last race in Abu Dhabi, sealing the Formula 2 title.

Mick comes down to congratulate him.

The press loves gestures like that.

One champion to another. Mick can already imagine the headlines.

Marcus grins at him, receiving the congratulatory pats with eyes unfocused.

Mick understands that bit.

Takes a long time for it to finally sink in.

Callum comes out of nowhere, hugging the life out of Marcus and the force lifts Marcus up to the air. 

Their peals of laughter mingle into one.

_It shouldn’t be that beautiful_ , Mick thinks.

It reminds him of the painful truth.

Mick is no one of importance.

Mick is just an interloper in their story.

—— 

Abu Dhabi is really pretty at night.

That’s the only redeeming quality, really.

Callum stops next to him.

“Good race.”

Mick shrugs, never taking his eyes off the artificial lights.

“Are you,” Callum clears his throat, “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Mick replies, proud at the steadiness of his voice, “Why would I be?”

“I knocked on your door last race. You didn’t answer.”

Mick twists his body around, staring at Callum for the first time in weeks.

“Why are you here?”

Callum crosses his arms, “Why can’t I be here?”

“I don’t know,” Mick gesticulates in the air, “Shouldn’t you be out there? Celebrating with Marcus? Or I don’t know, doing something with Ferrari?”

“Mick—”

“Why are you _here_ , Callum?”

“I want to see you.”

“Why? Because I’m the only one foolish enough to let you fuck me?”

Callum splutters, “That’s not—”

“My entire life,” Mick takes a deep breath, “I’ve been compared to my father. I’m fine with that, it is what it is. But, at this, I don’t want to be that. I don’t want to be the person you settle for because you can’t have Marcus. I don’t want that. I refuse to do that. Not with… not with my heart on the line.”

“I can be second best in racing. I refuse to be second best in love,” Mick chuckles weakly, “God, I’m not even second best for you, am I?”

Callum is silent.

Mick sighs and turns around, walking away.

Callum lets him go.

——

Mick arrives at an empty house.

His family has gone to visit his grandparents.

He supposes he will have to catch up after them.

There are a lot of notes stuck on the refrigerator, his mother’s distinct handwriting is as neat as it is comforting.

He glances at them, he’ll have time to read them later.

Mick trudges his suitcase up the stairs, casually throwing it aside before jumping to his bed.

It’s warm, and soft.

He falls asleep immediately.

——

Mick wakes up with a startle.

There’s banging on his front door.

With a mournful look to his bed, he goes to answer it.

Who bangs at someone’s door this early?

His neighbours don’t look like the typical people to disturb someone else’s morning. Certainly, not during holidays.

Unless it’s an emergency. In which, Mick hastens his step.

“Yes?” He hurriedly opens the door.

A fist almost hits him right in the eye. When it stills, mere inches from his eye, and pulls away, Mick almost trips on thin air.

Callum Ilott is standing in his front door.

In his family house’s foyer.

“Am I too late?”

Callum’s eyes are wild, and his entire body is shaking.

Mick feels a surge of concern.

“Do you want to come in?”

“No,” Callum bursts out, “I… I’m…”

Mick furrows his brows, “Callum, are you okay?”

“Shut up,” Callum replies, “Shut up. I’m trying to, fuck, I—”

Callum kisses him.

Mick makes small noises of surprise and deepens the kiss, only pulling away when he notices Callum shivering.

“No,” Callum mumbles, “More… I’m…”

“Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death.”

“Oh,” Callum looks around, “Yeah.”

——

“So, you like me?”

Mick offers Callum a mug filled with hot chocolate.

Callum reaches for it gingerly before looking up at him, deadpan.

“Do you think I will dry anyone’s hair out of the kindness of my heart?”

Mick looks up, stunned. 

Callum puts the mug down, “Honestly,” and throws his hands up, exasperated.

“Well,” Mick defends himself, “You should’ve said it sooner.”

“Are we really going to do this now?”

Mick gapes at him, confused.

“When I went to your hotel room in Australia,” Callum explains, “I was trying to ask you out on a date, you silly.”

Mick drops his jaw, “You’re what?”

“Yeah, but this silly man kissed me and slept with me and went ahead pretending like it didn’t happen in the first place.”

“I’m not—”

Callum doesn’t look impressed at Mick’s weak denial.

“So, what else can a man do, but go along with it?”

“I asked you if you wanted me or not,” Mick points out, “All you said was ‘ _you’re drunk, Mick_ ’. How the hell am I supposed to know you like me?”

“I’m not going to confess when you’re drunk. You won’t even remember, and then we’ll be back to square one again.”

“I told you I don’t want to be second best in Abu Dhabi. You didn’t say anything.”

“Why do you think I’m here right now?”

They stare at each other before bursting into laughter.

“God,” Mick speaks through his laughter, “We’re so stupid, huh?”

Callum snorts, “Speak for yourself.”

“Shut up before I kick you out, Ilott.”

Callum sticks his tongue out.

Mick rolls his eyes, very mature.

—— 

“I was wondering,” Callum speaks from beside him, legs tangling together, “Why did you say, you don’t want to be the one I settle for because I can’t have Marcus.”

Mick wants the bed to swallow him up.

“Mick,” Callum’s voice shifts, becoming more insistent, “Did you think, all that time, I’m sleeping with you… did you honestly think that it was because I couldn’t be with him?”

Mick squeaks, “Yeah?”

“You know Marcus has a girlfriend, right?”

Mick’s head swivels up, mouth-drying, “Sorry?”

Callum looks amused, “Marcus has a girlfriend,” he repeats.

_Oh_.

“Yeah,” Callum states, “Oh.”

“They just moved in together and all, you know, _relationships_.”

Callum wrinkles his nose.

Mick has to press his hand against his mouth to stop the oncoming giggles, “One day, you’ll do that too, you know.”

Callum stares at him, something warm, almost tender — Or, Mick has somehow lost his mind and started imagining stuff now, “Yeah?”

“You’ll find the one,” Mick explains shortly, “And you won’t do that thing anymore.”

“What thing?”

Mick mimics him, wrinkling his nose, “ _Relationships_.”

Callum’s responding laugh makes Mick’s toes curl.

“I think I’ve found them already.”

Mick throws a pillow at him.

“Hey,” Callum shouts, avoiding the pillow.

Mick can’t believe he used to think romantic gestures don’t suit them.

He can live sustained by them only.

—— 

Mick is hunching over the dining table, trying to be as quiet as possible.

There are soft footsteps, slowly descending the stairs.

Mick spins around, trying to hide everything behind his back.

Callum appears at the door, hair messy and eyes half-closed, “Mick?”

“Hey,” Mick greets him, voice high with nervousness.

“Hey yourself, what are you doing?”

Callum twists his body, trying to see what has Mick being noisy this early.

Mick pouts, giving up, “I was trying to surprise you.”

Callum zeroes in at the dishes on the table before directing his gaze at Mick, “Are you making breakfast?”

“Yeah,” he frowns, annoyed that his surprise is ruined, “I was trying to wake you up with breakfast on bed. I know it’s not much, but I-”

Callum swiftly kisses him and pulls back, “I’ll help you get this to bed.”

They spend the entire morning on the bed, eating and laughing, trying not to leave stains on the bedsheets.

——

They’re watching Home Alone — because of course, it’s always that movie at this time of year — when Mick can’t contain his curiosity anymore.

“When did you start to like like me?”

Callum tilts his head, pondering it carefully, “Bahrain, I guess. When you said those words.”

“What words?”

“I am happy that it was you I was racing against—” 

“Because if you’d have won, I’d have been happy for you,” Mick finishes.

“Yeah,” Callum smiles, softly, eyes bright, “That one.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that.”

“I know,” Callum responds, “That’s why I like you.”

“What about you?”

Mick considers the question, “I don’t know. At one point, it just clicked, you know. I looked at you when we shared the podium at the prize-giving, and I thought, God, I’m so fucking happy I won, but if I didn’t, and this man won, I would be happy too.”

“And, so they live happily ever after.”

Mick leans in to kiss him.

Wishing stars or not, Mick wishes for it to come true.

——

They’re brushing their teeth before going to bed when Callum questions out loud.

“So, you didn’t realise you like me because we fucked before the prize-giving?”

Mick chokes.

“Damn,” Callum shakes his head, “We need to work with that.”

“ _Callum_ ,” Mick sweetly calls, “Shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> do you ever just get embarrassed by your own fic?? because i finish checking this and i was like… this is embarrassing they're so ooc but then i was "i finished it might as well post this" so yeah here we go.
> 
> me: self acclaimed #1 ferrari hater  
> also me: the ferrari shirt STAYS on during sex (i'm sorry i'm such a simp for red okay + i miss mick in red)
> 
> fun fact nobody cares: home alone is always aired on tv every single year during christmas here so i was like yeah if i have to endure it then so are they lol
> 
> disclaimer: english is not my first language and this is a work of fiction.
> 
> if you want to hit me up [tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ovcrtakes)


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